


The Young Observer

by TwisterMelody



Series: Child of Baker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby Hamish suddenly won't stop crying in John's presence, puzzling both of his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Young Observer

"Hamish, shh," John said, trying to soothe the crying six month old in his arms. "Do you want your binky?" he asked, placing the pacifier in the baby's mouth. The sound came to a stop for exactly two seconds before the object was spit out, landing on the hardwood floor. Hamish began another bout of wailing. "No? How about your ba-ba?"  
  
"Oh for God's sake," Sherlock muttered as he entered the room, "for the last time, stop speaking to him like that. There's nothing more annoying than _baby talk_ ," he griped.  
  
John glared at him from the sofa before turning his attention back to their son. He tried maneuvering the bottle into Hamish's mouth, but he wouldn't allow for it, thrashing his head from side to side instead. The high pitched wailing echoed throughout the flat. John sighed and set the bottle on the table before he went back to softly bouncing the baby in his arms, hoping that by some miracle it would come to a stop. He was so focused that he didn't see Sherlock standing by him with his arms outstretched, waiting. Reluctantly, John passed Hamish over to Sherlock, and the crying came to an instant halt.  
  
John scrubbed his hands over his face as Sherlock took Hamish and his bottle to his armchair. It had been this way for the past two weeks or so. Whenever John held Hamish or even came near him, fresh tears would streak down his cheeks, his lungs seeming to test their capacity for how loudly he could cry. He hadn't been a fussy baby at all, and the sudden change was puzzling.  
  
"He hates me," John sighed.  
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock replied. He adjusted himself in his chair, holding Hamish in one arm and the bottle in the other. Hamish happily drank down his lunch as his bright blue eyes stayed fixated on Sherlock, not a trace of fussiness to be found. "It'll be months yet before he's formed an opinion of you."  
  
"Not helping, Sherlock."  
  
A knock at the doorframe took both of them away from the topic. Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway with a man behind her. They had been so preoccuppied with Hamish's bout of crying that they had failed to hear the doorbell, it seemed.  
  
"Client!" Mrs. Hudson smiled at them before disappearing down the stairs.  
  
John immediately stood up to shake the man's hand as Sherlock looked on. He was a tall, broad shouldered man who towered over John. His messy coal colored hair upon his head matched that of his long beard. His eyes were kind and he flashed a friendly smile at John as they shook hands and introduced themselves.  
  
"And what can we do for you, Mr. Gordon?" John asked, gesturing to his empty chair as he resumed his position on the sofa.  
  
"Well you see - oh!"  
  
John watched as the man stopped in the center of the room and moved towards Sherlock and Hamish. Sherlock still hadn't said a word, and his arm seemed to instinctively pull the baby in closer to his chest as the movement. The man leaned over to where he was in Hamish's full view.  
  
"Hello there, little guy!" he said, his voice booming.  
  
Hamish's arms began to stiffen and the next thing he knew, a deep breath of air had been sucked in and the baby started bawling once more. The man stepped back immediately.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't -"  
  
"Leave. Now," Sherlock commanded with his eyes hardened.  
  
"But Mr. Holmes -" he tried to reason as the crying went on.  
  
"You've upset my son. Leave," he bit back before dropping his voice dengerously low, "I won't tell you again."  
  
The man looked at John who quickly averted his gaze downward towards his hands. Steady footsteps heading down the stairs signaled his departure as the sounds coming from Hamish turned into babbles. John stood and crossed the room to grab a book from on top the fireplace.  
  
"You know, Sherlock, if that's the way you feel I might as well leave, too," John spoke softly.  
  
"Don't be so dramatic."  
  
"Dramatic? I can't even -" he crouched down to where Hamish could see him. The boy immediately started crying again as Sherlock sighed in apparent agitation. "I can't even be near our son without upsetting him." He stared at Hamish's crying form for a moment, knowing there was nothing he could do. "And it's _killing_ me," he croaked. He stood and made his way to the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Sherlock called over the cries.  
  
John just shook his head and made his way down the stairs and out the door without another word.  
  
He eventually found himself on a park bench not a stone's throw away from Baker Street. The sky was a gloom of grey and it felt too chilly for mid-September. John pulled out his phone and began scrolling through the numerous pictures he had taken. One of the most recent ones - taken before it had all began - included Hamish in his walker at 221B, his bright blue eyes shining, and a giant smile plastered across his face with his arms outstretched for John. He frowned, wondering if he'd ever be able to see that smile again.  
  
The next photo was of Hamish with his face scrunched up in one part confusion, one part displeasure after he had given him a taste of a lemon. There was a photo of him giggling as Lestrade held him high above his head. One photo made him laugh; Sherlock holding Hamish up as Hamish grabbed fistfuls of Sherlock's curls with pure joy, Sherlock's face contorted with pain. Another photo showed him in a tiny suit for Sarah's wedding he'd attended late in the summer, his messy dark hair looking out of place. There were photos of Mrs. Hudson bouncing him on her knee, photos of Molly playing with him in his room, and even a photo of Mycroft grinning at him as he held him not long after he was born. The more he flicked through, he became happy and more distraught all at once.  
  
One made him stop completely. John obviously hadn't taken it, so Sherlock must have done so without informing him. He remembered the day that was captured. Hamish was about two weeks old at the time, and John had been working nonstop for nearly two days. When all was finally said and done, he wanted to spend time with his son, and so he did. But, he was so exhausted at the time he found it hard to keep his eyes open. The photo captured him half reclined on the sofa with Hamish on his chest, both of his hands protectively holding him, Hamish's little hands clinging to John's shirt as they both slept. He had only dozed off for a moment, or so he thought. They both seemed utterly content.  
  
He sat his phone down on the bench and pinched the bridge of his nose. All around him there were happy sounds of laughter from children walking through the park with their families as the day passed on. He tried to think of what could have triggered the change, but nothing came to mind. It was one thing, he thought, to be separated from your child through distance. But, it hurt on an entirely different level to be separated in the same home, knowing you can't do anything to stop the flow of tears, knowing you're the sole cause of them. He had even began to think himself a failure as a parent. He missed his baby so much that it was causing a hollow ache deep within his chest. The chime of his phone sucked him out of his thoughts.  
  
 _Come home. SH_  
  
Before he could even think of a reply, it chimed again.  
  
 _I believe I've gotten to the root of the problem. SH_  
  
John sat for only a moment before pocketing his phone and heading back to 221B.  
  
"Ah, John!" Sherlock exclaimed when he entered the room.  
  
"Where's -"  
  
"Taking a nap. Here." Sherlock hastily shoved his laptop into John's hands, forcing him to take it. "While you were out I decided to conduct an experiment," he stated.  
  
John eyed him warily. "On our son?" he asked, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes in return.  
  
"Look." Sherlock quickly pressed a button on his keyboard bringing up an image window with the profile shot of a seemingly random person. "I showed Hamish images of different people," he began as he tapped through the images for John to see. "He became upset at a certain group, all having one thing in common. See," Sherlock said, gesturing to the screen. He turned to John.  
  
John noticed the pattern by the third image.   
  
"Oh," be breathed, turning his gaze away from the laptop to the mirror over the fireplace. " _Oh_."  
  
"He's _observing_!" Sherlock beamed with his face alight.  
  
"Yeah," John half laughed. He flicked his eyes to Sherlock, a corner of his mouth tugging upwards. "I suppose he is."  
  
"So you see," Sherlock said, taking the laptop from John and setting it down, "there's an easy solution, of course."  
  
"You don't like it then?" John asked, again looking at himself in the mirror.  
  
"I never said _I_ didn't like it," Sherlock nearly purred. "But for the sake of our son I suggest you do something about it."  
  
"Yeah," John muttered, running his hand over his scruffy face. It was the longest he'd ever grown out a potential beard. He hadn't thought his _facial hair_ of all things would upset anyone, but it seemed to be the case. Suddenly, the images of earlier in the day popped into his mind. "The client?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, that tipped me off. Seems he's terrified."  
  
"Of beards?"  
  
Sherlock shrugged. "Children can be odd creatures, John. It's also entirely possible he's associated them with something that's frightened him before."  
  
John nodded. "I suppose so..." he trailed off. "What if you're wrong?"  
  
"I'm never wrong."  
  
"Liar," he laughed as he turned towards the door.  
  
He managed to find a barber shop that hadn't closed yet for the day, deciding to get his now shaggy hair cut as well. After all, what did he have to lose? At best, everything would go back to normal. At worst... Well, he didn't particularly want to think about that. He found himself back at Baker Street a good while later feeling fresh and looking like the army man he'd always be. He slowly walked up the stairs, pausing when he realized Sherlock hadn't heard him come in the door by the sounds coming from the main flat. He stepped into the kitchen's entrance and half hid behind the walls there, watching Sherlock on the sofa as he talked to Hamish who was sat facing him on his lap.  
  
"Da-da is proud of you, Hamish!" Sherlock told him, smiling as Hamish babbled on.  
  
John stepped into the room. He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Sherlock immediately stopped and gave him a deer in the headlights look if John ever saw one. He raised his eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"So," he began, "after constantly nagging _me_ about it, it's perfectly alright for _you_ to use baby talk?"  
  
Sherlock's lips twisted as if they were keeping words in. "After spending a certain amount of time near such ridiculous things, it's only natural that it eventually catches on. _Like the plague_. I blame you," he finally said.  
  
"Of course you do." Hestitantly, John walked over to them both. He squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle.  
  
Sherlock turned Hamish around in his lap. His gaze started at John's feet and worked his way slowly up. Once his eyes met John's, he paused. Suddenly, Hamish broke out into a grin and began wildly wiggle his body, his arms reaching out for John. Warmth and relief bloomed through John's chest as he picked up his son. For the first time in two weeks, he was happy to be in his presence. More than happy, actually; it seemed he was absolutely giddy with the high pitched sounds he was making. John turned to Sherlock only to find the sofa empty, along with the rest of the room.  
  
"Sherlock?" he called out. Suddenly, his phone chimed. He sat himself down on the sofa with the baby's back against his chest. He pulled out his phone to check his messages.  
  
 _It would seem I'm suddenly needed elsewhere, leaving Hamish with you for a while. Hope you don't mind. SH_  
  
John laughed. He wasn't fooling anyone. He turned his phone over, showing Hamish the screen.  
  
"Your Dad is very silly," he said playfully, causing a smile at his words as little hands reached out for the device. His phone chimed again.  
  
 _And don't you dare doubt yourself ever again. Idiot. SH_  
  
"And he loves you very much," John told him, setting the phone down. "As do I." He pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, breaking out into a smile upon hearing the sound of happy giggles. A child's laughter, after all, is decidedly the most remarkable sound in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, scruffy John looks something like [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lumsefzMMt1qja1bno1_400.jpg). Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
